Gateway to Power
by Icy Mike Molson
Summary: After a century of Toreador power, the city of Saint Louis is on the verge of falling to the bloodthirsty Sabbat. A new general is needed to guide the Camarilla away from the brink of disaster...


The room practically glittered in the light of the crystal chandelier depending from the ceiling. The huge chamber's hardwood floors were polished nearly to a mirror sheen, elegant patterns of black grain showing against the dark sienna tones of the wood. The marble walls also reflected the great chandelier's light, half pillars of the brown stone separating the six cathedral style windows along each of the side walls. Thick, burgundy drapes partially obscured the windows, adding to the majesty of the huge room. Double oaken doors stood on one end of the rectangular room, while a great stained glass window that depicted a coat of arms resplendent with crossed swords and the lion rampant took up the vast majority of the far wall. Even in the darkness of the late hour of the night, the stained glass panel was lit from the outside, glowing in shades of red and gold.

The huge, rectangular table in the center of the room was the dominant feature, however, its head in the shadow of the massive stained glass coat of arms. It was a simple, yet elegant table, its black wood polished to perfection. A single, high backed chair of identical black wood and red velvet cushions stood beneath the glass panel, while three chairs flanked each side of the table. A final seat was positioned at the foot of the table, its back directly to the doors.

The massive, double doors creaked open, allowing two men to enter the resplendent meeting hall. In stark contrast to the elegant, almost courtly appearance of the chamber, the two men that entered were unkempt and rough, wearing dirty, sleeveless denim jackets over black tee shirts, faded blue jeans, and black combat boots. The larger of the two walked into the room first, his dark eyes sweeping over the empty room from a weatherbeaten face. A single, long scar ran from his right temple to his jaw, cutting a thin line through the otherwise wild black beard he wore. Finally, he turned back to his companion, a slightly shorter man with a compact, powerful build and short brown hair.

"We're first again, Jed," the larger biker said. "Like usual."

Jed Townsend nodded silently, his sharp green eyes casually sweeping across the marble walls and the stained glass panel ahead of him. Although he appeared thoroughly out of place in the huge chamber, Jed knew every corner of the room by heart. As primogen of the bestial clan of vampires known as the Gangrel, it was his duty to appear before the Council of Primogen of the city of Saint Louis whenever the prince summoned them.

Jed glanced over at the other biker for a moment, then quietly walked around the table pulled the second chair on the left side out slightly. Zeke Miller was effectively the next in line for the leadership of the Gangrel, but the larger biker despised the mere thought of appearing in the meeting hall. Gangrel were largely nomadic and certainly unaccustomed to playing the games of vampiric society, but in Saint Louis a strong order was needed. The Gangrel loosely associated themselves with the sect of vampires known as the Camarilla, who advocated shadowy control over the world's mortals and a veil of secrecy known as the Masquerade. Saint Louis was effectively a frontier city, a border fortress against the dominance of the bloodthirsty, brutal Sabbat of the eastern United States. The Sabbat were far less forgiving to mortals than the subtle Camarilla, and had declared a misguided crusade against the Camarilla for more than six hundred years. With such a merciless enemy arrayed against them, the Gangrel were forced to cooperate with the other clans of the Camarilla, in Saint Louis if nowhere else.

Jed looked up as the doors opened as second time, but this time two men that appeared far more comfortable with their surroundings entered the meeting hall. Jed knew both men, and indeed held a grudging respect for them both. They both dressed in expensive, hand tailored suits, and both carried personalized, sleek black briefcases. The taller of the two, dressed in a navy blue suit, was the more familiar of the two. Lars Hauser had the look and feel of a pure German, his blond hair cut short and neatly groomed. His blue eyes appraised Zeke first as the Gangrel lieutenant glared at the pair, but then met Jed's gaze with a show of forced courtesy. The man that entered behind him, slightly shorter and slightly less broad than the well built Hauser, was a man with dark hair and cold, calculating blue eyes, his features also speaking strongly of Germanic descent. Otto von Stadt nodded slightly to Jed, then walked to the right side of the table and removed the chair directly opposite the Gangrel primogen.

"I see the Gangrel have come back in from the wilds to join us in civilized society," Otto stated, his voice holding a slightly amiable tone. Although he spoke clearly and in perfect English, Otto's German appearance was further enhanced by the faint accent to his words.

"Only because we would not let a bunch of bankers with fangs run this city into the ground," Jed replied, still standing behind his chair as Otto seated himself. The primogen of the clan of businessmen and aristocrats known as the Ventrue smiled across the table, disregarding the insult easily.

"Come now, Mister Townsend, do not loose your venom on me," Otto stated. "After all, unlike some other clans, we have not pushed for restrictions on the numbers of Gangrel nomads allowed into Saint Louis."

"And I still want to know what you're trying to get from me in return for your support," Jed stated, his suspicion with the all too kind von Stadt clearly displayed in his eyes. Otto's smile grew slightly wider.

"Oh, I just wish that we could be friends," the Ventrue primogen said. He looked up as the doors swung open a third time. Otto's mood instantly darkened as he locked cold stares with the newest arrivals.

"Ah, Mister von Stadt," one of the newcomers said with a wide smile, striding into the room with an air of authority and arrogance. He was well under six feet tall, but possessed a stocky, broad build covered by a black Armani suit. Paul Centanni, businessman, Mafia shadow boss, and primogen of Clan Brujah, locked his dark eyes onto Otto's cold gaze, unflinching in the harsh gaze of the Ventrue primogen. Walking a step behind him and to the left, Karen Giannini sized up the Gangrel contingent quickly, her deep brown eyes meeting for a moment with Zeke Miller's perpetually angry glare. Despite the demure appearance Giannini's petite, attractive body presented, the other primogen knew that Karen was an accomplished assassin, a deadly shot with most weapons, and likely armed to the teeth beneath the jacket she wore. Paul turned away from the Ventrue at last to nod to Jed Townsend, and took a moment to smile at the Gangrel primogen. "Jed Townsend," the Brujah stated. "I see your clan still knows how to dress for an occasion."

"I prefer not to waste time posing and get straight to the point," Jed stated evenly, finally sitting down at his chair. Paul chuckled slightly.

"Of course, the Gangrel way," the Brujah commented with a lopsided grin. "No time to bathe, just go out and kill it."

"I am in no mood for this," Jed pointed out, his green eyes growing cold as he stared at his Brujah counterpart. Centanni put his hands up in a mock display of fear, then looked back to the double doors as they opened once more.

The two newest arrivals to the Council of Primogen were obviously the Nosferatu. Even if Paul had not known Tolbert and his assistant, Danny Black, the hideous features of the entire Nosferatu clan unerringly marked the two men. Tolbert stood almost six and a half feet tall, his emaciated frame a sickly white where his ragged robes did not cover his skin. A few loose strands of gray hair dropped down into the Nosferatu primogen's ghastly face, partially obscuring his yellowed eyes and oozing lesions. Danny Black was just as hideous, but unlike Tolbert, he was no taller than five and a half feet tall, pot bellied and squat. Despite his wide body, Danny's skin still appeared to be far too large for his body. As always, Paul was immediately struck by the pair's appearance; once again the Brujah thought of the two as a grotesque parody of Laurel and Hardy. Paul choked down a chuckle as he moved to greet the two newcomers.

"Don't waste your breath, Centanni," Tolbert said before the Brujah primogen could utter a word. "I have no desire to hear your two faced compliments. You are as bad as the Toreador."

"Oh, Tolbert, you wound me," Paul said with a broad smirk.

"If only he really would," Zeke grumbled from his position behind his primogen.

"Something worthwhile, said by a Gangrel?" Lars asked, turning to the Gangrel lieutenant. The German cracked a smile as he caught Miller's attention. "Zeke, I do believe this is a first for you."

Zeke turned a withering glare on Lars, but the Ventrue second was already moving on to speak with his primogen. Paul glanced around the room quickly, and clasped his hands behind his back as Karen moved to his side.

"Where are Kiel and Marsius?" the younger Brujah asked quietly.

"Both of them are probably trying to outwait each other," Centanni replied. "Each one wants to be the last in, so that the meeting starts when he wants it to. I wish the two of them would just kill each other and get it over with."

"Maybe the Brujah would join in that fight, and get themselves killed as well," Otto stated, looking up from where he discussed figures on a sheet of paper with Lars.

"Otto, you're just upset that a certain Brujah interest holds more sway in the railyards than you do," Paul said with a broad grin. The Brujah's crafty acquisition of control over the Railworkers' Union put the Ventrue at a distinct disadvantage in controlling overland freight, and von Stadt still fumed at Centanni's usurpation of his power. The Brujah, for his part, did everything he could to remind the Ventrue of their failure, enjoying frustrated that he kindled with every word he spoke.

"A temporary setback, to be certain," Otto grumbled, looking back to his papers. The double doors opened one more time, and a bespectacled man in an unimpressive brown suit entered the meeting hall. His short brown hair was combed straight back from his somewhat round, nondescript face.

"Ah, the Black Wizard's loyal apprentice," Paul stated, recognizing Frank Humphries. The seasoned Tremere bodyguard was almost always found in the shadow of Marsius himself, taking on the role of both bodyguard and advisor.

"Where is your master, Humphries?" Townsend asked coldly, meeting Humphries' gaze.

"Unfortunately, Marsius will be unable to join us tonight," Frank replied, moving to the seat at the foot of the table. "I will speak for Clan Tremere tonight, and my word will be treated as the word of the primogen himself."

"Did Marsius blow himself up trying to call down lightning?" Tolbert asked in his low, silken voice, a smirk on his hideous face. Frank shook his head, but the amiable Tremere smiled slightly at the joke.

"No, he's just indisposed tonight," the Tremere lieutenant explained. "Is Kiel here yet?"

"I'm sure he'll be along any second now, since you're here," Centanni answered.

As if on cue, the double doors opened a final time, allowing three newcomers into the room. The central man strode into the chamber with an air of regal authority, his blue eyes swiftly scanning the room's occupants with an almost dismissive glance. The man's thick brown hair was pushed straight back, but a loose curl dropped down the left side of his forehead, stylishly out of place. Wearing a hand tailored burgundy suit and a gold band studded with rubies on his left ring finger, the man was the picture of wealth and power, flanked by his equally elegant subordinates. To his left, a young man with blond hair swept to one side and deep brown eyes matched his leader's pace with carefully measured steps, his haughty demeanor enough to ward off the other members of the council. On the man's right, a stunning young woman with a beautiful mane of auburn hair and crystal clear, deep blue eyes also entered the chamber, her crimson dress immediately grabbing the attention of the other primogen. The young woman flashed a friendly, almost seductive smile at each of the others in turn, until her eyes came to rest upon Karen Giannini. Only then did a hint of dark anger come to the young woman's face, but it dissolved quickly as she turned one of her least genuine smiles upon Zeke Miller and Jed Townsend.

"Gentlemen, and lady, thank you all for being so punctual," Ernst Kiel said magnanimously as he rounded the table to take his place at the head. The prince of the city was a member of the artistic Clan Toreador, a powerful man in both politics and the arts that the clan promoted so heavily. Chad Gainsworth took the first seat to the prince's right, next to Townsend, while Cassandra Danforth easily slid into her chair next between Kiel and von Stadt. Paul Centanni sat down on the Gangrel primogen's right, and Karen took up a position almost directly behind her superior. Tolbert sat down opposite the Brujah, and Frank Humphries took the accustomed position of the Tremere directly opposite Kiel. Ernst allowed himself to look over his subjects for a long moment, then folded his hands on the table in front of him and smiled slightly. "I do believe we've had quite a quiet month," the prince stated, relaxing visibly as his gaze shifted around the table and over the new representative for the Tremere. "I was saddened to hear that Primogen Marsius could not join us tonight. I do hope everything is well within your clan, Mister Humphries?"

"Everything is fine," Frank replied smoothly, a slight smirk coming to his lips. Ernst hid it well, but the Tremere representative could see a faint trace of apprehension in the prince's eyes and body language. The Toreador could not help but wonder what had kept the scheming Marsius away from the meeting of the primogen. "Marsius simply had some pressing concerns to deal with. Just because the Sabbat does not openly announce their presence, does not mean that they are not there."

"I feel that the representative of the Tremere brings up a valid point," Centanni agreed, leaning forward slightly. "There have recently been some probing raids against my political and corporate power, which I can only assume is from Orescieu and his bands of cutthroats."

"Do not be so quick to assume that the Sabbat is behind every such attack to your power," Ernst said, relaxing once more as his attention shifted from the Tremere. "I hear that you have acquired some of the power over the rail unions from the Ventrue. Perhaps they are merely seeking a bit of retribution."

"That is a blind accusation without any grounding in reality," Otto countered, letting only a mere hint of anger into his voice. "It would be appreciated if the prince would not be such a gossip that he must create and spread rumors at every meeting of the primogen."

"I apologize, Mister von Stadt," Ernst said, turning to the Ventrue. "I must, however, warn against seeing Orescieu's hand in every stroke of bad luck and misfortune that befalls us. Remember that the anarchs, and especially that Brujah gang that roams the northwestern part of the city, are also present. I hear too that the neo-Nazis in the southern sections are also acting up. Isn't that right, Mister Townsend?"

"I wouldn't know," Jed replied, his voice icy as he glared at the prince. The Gangrel primogen, and indeed all of the others at the table, knew that the leader of the gang of white supremacist anarchs to which Kiel referred, was led by Townsend's own grandchilde. "I hardly see how Kraus and his idiot lackeys could be behind some kind of political push against the Brujah."

"I didn't say they were," Ernst said, smiling slightly. Frank watched the prince work for a moment, and had to admire the Toreador's ability to keep the clans fighting among themselves enough to hold his own power. Every month, the Toreador prince would make just enough remarks and hints about each clan to keep the Brujah fighting the Ventrue, and the Gangrel feuding against the Tremere. The Nosferatu, often a quiet enough clan, was disparaged constantly by Kiel, but never in the open. The prince always seemed to notice one of the horribly disfigured clan spying on each of the primogen, and would make the Nosferatu's presence known to the primogen in question. It was a masterful game that had distracted the clan leaders from any mistakes that the Toreador might make in running the city for almost seventy years. "Tell me, Mister Centanni," Ernst continued, returning his attention to the Brujah, "do you have any idea as to who might be behind the assaults on your power?"

"I think I do," Paul replied. Ernst could not hide a look of faint surprise.

"Well, if you do know their identities, why do you come here to complain?" the Toreador inquired. "Of course, if you need help in uprooting these problems, the Clan Toreador might be able to provide some assistance."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Paul replied. He smiled slightly, throwing the prince off even farther. Ernst studied the almost smug look on the Brujah's face, not knowing what to expect. Centanni was up to something; he had the look of a man eager to play a trump card in a high stakes game. "I have already dispatched a special investigator to look into matters."

"Oh really," Ernst said, growing suspicious. Centanni's smirk was driving the prince crazy, but the Toreador refrained from using his mastery of the vampiric discipline of auspex to search for the answer in the recesses of the Brujah's mind. Centanni's very trap might be to catch the prince invading the minds of his primogen, a violation that could very easily cost Ernst his position as prince of the city. "And who might this be? Perhaps he could aid us in the war against the Sabbat."

"I have invited him here, actually," Centanni informed the prince, his smirk growing slightly wider. "In fact, he should be arriving any moment now."

"Well, we should certainly prepare a welcome," Ernst decided, leaning back in his chair. Silently the Toreador racked his brains, trying to think of anyone that the Brujah could hire, within or outside of Saint Louis, to look into the matters at hand. The prince had only a second to think, however, before the doors of the meeting hall opened unexpectedly.

All of the council, save for Centanni and Humphries, turned as the double doors opened wide to admit a short, thin man wearing a solid black suit and an equally black hat over a mane of shiny, jet black hair. The man's dark eyes held a cold, commanding gaze as he stepped into the room, the doors swinging shut behind him without a touch from the newcomer or any servants outside the room. Slowly the impeccably dressed man approached the table, removing a large, black sports bag from his shoulder. Finally, as he reached the table, Ernst stood up, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward slightly.

"Marsius," the prince stated, saying the name with an obvious hint of distaste. For a long moment the two men locked stares, each one daring the other to look away. "I was told that you had matters to attend to, and that you would be unable to join us."

"It would appear that I overestimated the amount of time it would take me to look into the matters to which Mister Centanni alluded," Marsius stated, placing the bag on the table in front of his lieutenant. Frank stood up slowly, and moved behind the chair in deference to his primogen. Ernst could feel a trap closing in around him as he glared into the Tremere primogen's icy eyes, but did not know what to expect from the sudden appearance of the vampiric sorcerer. Kiel hazarded the briefest glance at Paul Centanni, then locked eyes again with Marsius.

"Well, Marsius, I suspect you have something to bring before the Council of Primogen?" the prince concluded, gesturing to the bag. "Or are you just bringing your luggage with you to the council?"

Marsius said nothing, but reached into the bag and slowly withdrew a severed head from within. Cassandra gasped in shock, but the other assembled vampires simply looked on in silence. Marsius placed the head carefully on the stump of its neck on the table, then reached into the bag again and withdrew two more heads, lining them up with the first one on the table.

"Is there a point to this?" Jed finally asked, nearly spitting out his words. Townsend had made it clear many times that he was no friend of the sorcerous Tremere, and the wizards had reciprocated the hatred in spades. "Dramatics notwithstanding, you're getting blood all over the table."

"Not that the Gangrel could ever truly appreciate the fine workmanship of this table, but Townsend has a point," Chad said, sitting next to the Gangrel primogen. "What is the meaning of this?"

Marsius smiled slightly, a cold grin that was without humor. Ernst watched as the Tremere reached into the bag one more time, and withdrew a fourth head. As he placed it on the table in front of the other three unfortunates, Cassandra stood up quickly, her face a mask of fury.

"You have violated the Traditions and slaughtered an innocent woman!" the Toreador lieutenant shouted in rage. She had recognized the head instantly, as Marsius was certain that she, and the others, would. "I demand an explanation!"

"Be quiet, childe," Marsius stated evenly, his cold gaze locking onto the far younger Toreador. Had she been mortal, Cassandra's face would have turned bright red with her anger. She nearly leapt down the table at the Tremere primogen, but Ernst placed a hand on her arm. Cassandra's anger faded slightly at the touch, but the younger Toreador remained standing as she glared at the Tremere.

"I trust you have an explanation," Kiel added, finally taking his attention from his protégé. "I am certain that you are aware of the identity of the young woman which you have decapitated."

"I am," Marsius confirmed. "Are you?"

"What the hell are you talking about, you wand waving son of a bitch?" Cassandra demanded. "You've killed my childe!"

"Your childe was dead over two years ago!" Marsius suddenly snapped, whirling from Ernst to Cassandra. The force of his discipline of presence nearly bowled the young Toreador over as the Tremere shouted at her, and she unconsciously backed up a step from the table. Marsius grabbed the head of Cassandra's "childe" by its golden blond hair, and raised it from the table. "Are you so dense that you cannot even recognize Ravnos trickery and Tzimisce fleshcrafting? Do you know so little about your childer that you cannot see an impostor?"

"What are you talking about, Marsius?" Ernst demanded. "Cease your use of your disciplines on my childe and explain yourself!"

Marsius turned back to the prince, giving the elder Toreador a cold, almost menacing smile. Freed from the brutal force of Marsius' disciplines, Cassandra could nonetheless barely look at the Tremere.

"What Mister Centanni said is true," Marsius started. "He did ask me to look into the attacks on his power in the city, as he knew that no one else could do such a job with such efficiency. I originally dispatched Mister Humphries, who was able to uncover a Tremere _antitribu_, one of the hated traitors to my clan, within the city of Saint Louis. As he had somehow managed to evade all of my wards and circles, I knew that he must have some kind of knowledge of the city, most likely supplied from the inside. Tonight, I discovered and destroyed that spy."

"And you are accusing Cassandra's childe of being that spy," Chad finished, his arms folded across his chest as he glared at the Tremere. The Toreador refused to believe any of the Tremere's story. Marsius was after power, plain and simple, and he was not above murder and outright slander to get it. "You are a liar and a murderer, Marsius."

"I beg to differ," Centanni said, coming to the Tremere's defense. The Brujah primogen turned to Karen, and the woman removed a half dozen cassettes and two CDs from her jacket. "Being that we have brought a woman that you all believe to be Jenna Thomason and not Anya Jeznach, don't you think we would have some evidence to back up our claim?"

"I will be reviewing those," Ernst said, trying to keep control of the situation. Centanni could see the barely contained anger and embarrassment in the prince as he struggled to hold on to his dignified demeanor.

"Two years," Marsius said again. "Two years, and not her sire, her prince, or her primogen could pick out a traitor in their very ranks."

"It is quite embarrassing," Otto stated, turning a bemused smirk on the prince. Ernst went wide eyed with rage for a moment, but quickly brought himself back under control. Kiel had just managed to rein in his anger when the Ventrue primogen continued, still smiling in amusement. "Perhaps we should have Marsius conduct a thorough investigation of some of your clanmates, Ernst."

"You mock my pain and the loss of my childe!" Cassandra shrieked, turning and slapping Otto fiercely. The younger Toreador lunged at the Ventrue as he fell back in his chair, but Lars reacted with superhuman speed to protect his primogen. Before Cassandra could land another blow against Otto, Hauser had thrown the young woman from her chair and onto the floor, kneeling on her back as he slammed her face into the polished hardwood panels. Chad jumped up and drew a Glock from under his suit, rushing to defend his blood sister.

Within a heartbeat, every vampire in the room save Kiel and Marsius had drawn weapons. Jed threw Chad face first into the table, drawing a monstrous Bowie knife. Tolbert pulled a pair of Berettas from his robes as Karen rapidly covered Otto, who scrambled to his feet with his silver plated Taurus revolver in hand. Zeke ripped his Desert Eagle from its holster to cover Tolbert, but Danny Black was already pointing a sawed off, double barreled shotgun at the Gangrel enforcer and Centanni was aiming down the sights of his Sig Sauer nine millimeter at the Nosferatu. Frank had also drawn his own weapons, leveling his Glock on Danny.

"ENOUGH!" Ernst bellowed, applying his own discipline of presence over the mob of vampires. His powerful show of majesty washed out across the table, immediately bringing the wild group back under control, but the prince suddenly found his own powerful force of will directed back at him. Ernst glared out over the table for a long moment, forced to fight off the effects of his own discipline before he could be embarrassed for a second time. Slowly, Lars allowed Cassandra back to her feet as the others hesitantly holstered their weapons. Ernst looked down the table to where Marsius stood, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene with a look of stern disapproval. The assembled primogen slowly returned to their seats, still reeling from the aftereffects of such a powerful use of the discipline of presence. The primogen turned to Ernst, expecting an angry tirade about the sudden outburst of violence, but the prince simply sat down at the head of the table and cast one last, furious glare around the table as he searched for his voice.

"This is unacceptable," Marsius stated, unfazed by the show of majesty from the prince. Ernst had heard rumors of a powerful Tremere ritual, one that could not only protect the caster from the discipline of presence but also redirect the effects back on the practitioner. Silently he cursed himself for walking into such a dangerous trap. He needed to overcome his majesty within the next few seconds, or Marsius was certain to tear the prince apart. "There are Sabbat agents throughout this city. Each night we lose ground to Orescieu and his bloodthirsty thugs. Every night we lose ground to these bastards, trying to obey the orders of this ignorant fool," the Tremere stated, pointing to Chad. "And now, we cannot even come into the same room without nearly killing each other."

"You overstep your bounds, Marsius," Ernst finally managed, standing again. "Mister Gainsworth has done an admirable job as Secretary of War under my reign, and we have-"

"We have lost ground every night to Orescieu's Sabbat," Jed cut in, interrupting the prince. "This moron has us fight when we should retreat and retreat when we should fight!"

"Maybe if your animalistic bastard clansmen would follow orders, we would have more success!" Chad shouted, turning on the Gangrel primogen.

"We would have more success if we shot you during our next sweep of the city!" Jed countered angrily. "You wouldn't know military strategy if it hit you in the face!"

"I have read _The Art of War_-" Chad started furiously.

"Sixteen times, we know!" Karen finished angrily, cutting off the Toreador. "Jesus Christ, Chad, we could have Sun Tzu explain the fucking book to you and you still wouldn't know how to fight!"

"Maybe you'd like to take over, then!" Chad challenged in a rage, turning on the Brujah lieutenant.

"You're goddamn right I would!" Karen shouted back. "I certainly couldn't do any worse than you right now!":

"Silence, the both of you!" Ernst ordered, frantic to maintain some kind of control. "Chad is my Secretary of War, and that is final!"

"Igoe-Pruitt," Marsius said calmly, leaning forward on the table. Ernst nearly leapt from his seat, again barely maintaining control over his rage.

"That was a noteworthy effort, and it would have succeeded!" Cassandra exclaimed.

"Igoe-Pruitt was a disaster," Tolbert said. "Your wonderful architectural designs for mass housing turned into a breeding ground for Sabbat recruits, if they didn't go to the anarchs first."

"Igoe-Pruitt is only the most noteworthy in a series of catastrophes," Marsius pointed out. He could see the look in Kiel's eyes from across the table. The prince was panicked, trying to salvage something, losing ground with every word that was spoken by the gathered primogen. Centanni had practically given Marsius the opportunity to finally oust the Toreador, and Otto and Tolbert were both playing into the Tremere primogen's hands. All that remained was to gather Townsend's support, and the Gangrel were rapidly coming around to supporting their most hated enemies against the faltering prince. The collected primogen could smell blood, and were gathering themselves to strike for the kill.

"Igoe-Pruitt was one isolated incident!" Chad retorted.

"Igoe-Pruitt was the tip of the iceberg," Tolbert continued, taking up Marsius' fight. "Your vague artistic ideals have failed, time and again. I hear you say that architecture is as much an art as your paintings or grand compositions. Why, then, are the old homes of northern Saint Louis falling into decay, housing anarchs and Sabbat alike? Tell me, Mister Gainsworth, would you like to stroll along Page Boulevard at night, or buy a home in Gaslight Square?"

"The decay of the northern sections of the city is a direct result of the recession that we are being faced with," Otto added. "And that recession has stemmed from your stifling controls on both Centanni and myself. If you had not restricted the both of us so heavily in the eighties, and if you weren't so busy playing us off against each other, Gaslight Square might still be what it was during the sixties."

"I shall lift some of the restrictions on both of you, but-" Ernst started, near pleading with the Ventrue to lend his support to the Toreador again.

"The time for placation is over," Marsius interrupted. Kiel turned on the Tremere, his anger fading into outright fear. "You have done enough damage over the last half century, Mister Kiel. I have all the respect in the world for your concertos and your skills as a pianist, but you are horribly lacking in the skills of a prince. The time has come for change."

"And who would you put on the throne, Marsius?" Ernst asked, laughing out loud in a poor show of confidence. The Toreador glanced around him nervously, trying to find someone in the assembled primogen to support him, but no one sprang to his aid. "Maybe you, Marsius! Maybe the Black Wizard should rule this city, crushing everyone beneath his iron fist!"

"That was exactly my plan, Ernst," Marsius said, his voice even and cool.

"Over my dead body!" Chad shouted, jumping to his feet.

"Sit down, Mister Gainsworth," Marsius said in a dismissive, almost nonchalant tone as he locked eyes with the younger Toreador. Chad dropped back into his chair, hopelessly outclassed by the Tremere's mastery of the discipline of domination. Ernst strode around the table, stalking towards the Tremere primogen until he was only inches from Marsius' face.

"You will not find me to be so easily swayed by your mental commands, warlock," Kiel growled. Marsius said nothing as he glared back into the prince's eyes for a long moment. The assembled vampires at the table watched the staredown silently, waiting to see which one would flinch.

The standoff ended abruptly as Marsius grabbed Kiel by the front of his shirt and spun him into the nearest marble pillar. The prince bounced back off of the wall, staggering into the center of the room again, but Marsius was on him again, grabbing him by the hair and running him into the pillar a second time. Dazed and reeling, Kiel tried to form a successful counterattack, but could not react in time as the Tremere grabbed his arm and hurled him through the nearest window. Both Chad and Cassandra leapt to their feet, but Karen and Frank quickly drew their weapons on the pair of Toreador.

"Miss Danforth, your services are no longer required at this Council of Primogen," Marsius stated. Cassandra remained at her seat for a long moment, her hateful gaze shifting between Humphries and Marsius. Seeing her refusal to exit the room, Marsius once more caught her eyes and crushed her will beneath his powers of domination. "Leave, Miss Danforth. Take your sire home and do not return to this council for the rest of the night."

"This isn't over, Marsius," Cassandra warned, her words practically dripping with venom. She walked to the door, then stopped and turned back to the assembly. "Do you hear me? This isn't over!"

"It is over for tonight," Marsius countered, his voice even and almost emotionless. Cassandra leveled a last, enraged look on the Tremere before his commands forced her out of the room. With Cassandra gone, the Black Wizard turned back to the table. "Tonight, this Council of Primogen will vote for a new prince," Marsius informed the group. "And you will vote for me. I hope you all understand me."

Marsius looked around the table, appraising each of the primogen in turn. Centanni was already on his side; the two primogen had planned the meeting, and Centanni was, for the moment, content with giving the Tremere the title of prince. Jed Townsend remained unreadable, scowling across the table at the Tremere. Chad Gainsworth, who Marsius would have vote for the Toreador, would certainly not vote for Marsius, but that was hardly a concern. Otto von Stadt simply looked across the table at the Tremere, judging, no doubt, how difficult it would be for the Ventrue to manipulate the Tremere once Marsius became prince. Finally, Tolbert nodded as the Tremere's eyes came to rest on the Nosferatu.

"Mister Gainsworth," Marsius said. "Cast your vote."

"Fuck you, sorcerer," Chad spat. "Ernst Kiel is our prince."

"Mister von Stadt," Marsius prompted.

"I must admit, Ernst has done a poor job over the last four decades," the Ventrue pointed out. "And it is true that we are in need of a new prince. For the time being, I think I can live with you as our leader. I will cast my vote for Marsius."

"Tolbert," Marsius said.

"Anyone is an improvement over Kiel," the Nosferatu said. "You have my vote."

"Mister Centanni."

"I knew you would want something in return for helping me with this Sabbat pack," Paul concluded. "But, then again, I think you would make a decent prince, even if, as von Stadt said, only for the time being. You have my vote."

"Mister Townsend," Marsius said. Jed looked up from the table, his piercing green eyes searching for something on the Tremere. While the Gangrel primogen's vote made no difference any more, Marsius knew that he needed unanimity among the primogen with the obvious exception of the Toreador. Without it, Marsius' reign might only last for a few months before von Stadt and Centanni tried to take the throne, or Kiel marshaled his forces to try and retake his crown. Jed's eyes showed his disgust with the situation as he slowly appraised the Tremere.

"Show me what you can do," Townsend finally stated. He nodded slightly. "You have my backing. You are the prince, Marsius."

Marsius glanced around the table one more time, then smiled slightly and took his accustomed seat at the table of the primogen.

"Remember, you all voted for me, with the exception of the Toreador," the Black Wizard reminded the group. "I will drive the Sabbat out of Saint Louis, and I will not be kind about it. You will all be called upon to aid me, especially you, Mister Townsend. You will all be forced to make sacrifices to makeup for four decades of asinine leadership. But the Tremere will be alongside you, making equal, if not greater, sacrifices. You will all pledge your clans to the wholehearted defense of this city from Orescieu. Am I clear?"

The primogen each nodded in turn as Marsius' cold, commanding gaze swept over them.

"Excellent," the Tremere said, the faintest of smiles crossing his lips. "Then let us reshape Saint Louis in our image."


End file.
